


gods do not play fair

by KatcadeCascade (DreamWings231)



Category: RWBY
Genre: Afterlife, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Death, Fix-It, M/M, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:48:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22456723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamWings231/pseuds/KatcadeCascade
Summary: It takes eons for Clover to find his voice, “I’m dead.”“Yes,” the being sighed. It was only one word and yet Clover knows there’s a storm inside the god’s mind.“You’re the Brother of Light,” Clover needed to say that out loud for his sanity because oh this is apparently happening.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 17
Kudos: 251





	gods do not play fair

**Author's Note:**

> let me just say, you can write anything when you're properly motivated
> 
> suffice to say, i am motivated to make qrow happy

The last thing Clover saw Qrow kneeling over him, the sun slowly rising and spilling purples and pinks into the empty sky. Those colors shine on Qrow’s pale face, his mouth a gap from shock and horror, his red eyes close to tears.

As awful as it is to think, Qrow still looks so beautiful.

Clover ignores the pain in his teared flesh, the blood soaking up in the snow, and takes in all of Qrow.

That dashing man so full of love for his kids, blood or related or not, how he carries so much on his shoulders and Clover just wants to offer up his own aide and support.

He wants to see Qrow smile without a trace of despair but he knows he won’t get it in his last moments.

“Good luck,” he tells him, straining his body with fire as the cold bites into him.

He hopes that Qrow will understand everything behind those two words.

It’s a blessing and forgiveness and all of their cherished memories.

Clover prays for good fortune for Qrow as his world goes white.

Bleak nothingness whips away the scenery, the sky and the sun and the tundra.

His heart hurts more when Qrow fades away.

Then there’s nothing else in this whiteness.

Clover feels that color is rubbing into his brain, numbing the pain out of him until he finds himself standing on two steady feet.

Everywhere around him empty, nothing to see but infinity.

His body feels like he’s just woke up from a dream, drowsy and slow, as he tries to walk around.

“Clover Ebi,” a voice utters, it sounds so ancient and exhausted.

It shakes his very core from the sheer power Clover senses behind him.

Slowly he turns and gasps at the sight of a golden dragon.

Clover’s mind is completely shocked, his knees weak from the presence of a being that eludes everything and nothing.

Then instantaneously, that dragon becomes the form of a man, a giant man of gold with no eyes or a mouth. He stands straight and with his hands clasped together. He’s crowed with antlers.

It takes eons for Clover to find his voice, “I’m dead.”

“Yes,” the being sighed. It was only one word and yet Clover knows there’s a storm inside the god’s mind.

“You’re the Brother of Light,” Clover needed to say that out loud for his sanity because _oh this is apparently happening._

He remembers General Ironwood’s briefing, how the tale of the Brothers Grimm was real and Ozpin received their relics. Never would Clover imagine standing before the story itself.

“That is I,” the god confirmed, as if this needs more clarification for Clover’s poor fragile brain.

“Um, uh, where?”

Is it bad to not form coherent sentence in front of a god?

Is Clover the first human ever to stumble over his words before a god?

Probably not but still, his mind is still melting just a tad.

“We are in between realms,” the god of light and creation said, “I wanted to speak with you before you went to the afterlife.”

Afterlife, right, because he’s dead.

The memory of his death is pulled to the forefront of his brain, as if he’s digging it out of the dirt. Most of it is a hazy painful image but the only thing in focus is Qrow.

Qrow…

“I know this seems,” the god himself struggles with his words, surprising the human, “taboo to offer a second human this offer…”

“I don’t know much about Ozpin,” Clover interrupts and he down swallows the lump of fear when the god stares into him, “but I gotten to know Oscar Pine. He’s not happy of being stringed along someone else’s destiny.”

When he learned about the unusual case of the wizard’s incarnation, he noticed how Oscar had to steel himself up for the topic. That little boy wants to make this situation into his choice rather than a burden to bear.

There’s no reaction from the god of course, likely unfamiliar on facing his own mistakes and consequences.

Clover steels himself too, risking it all with a frown, “What do you want?”

They must have all the time in the in between worlds because the god is silent for a long while, collecting his thoughts and saying, “As per a promise, my brother and I have not visited your planet.” His ever clasping hands fall to his sides, clenched tight, “But over some time, transcending souls have enough courage to pass us a message.”

In flashes of gold, black silhouettes of people line up by the god. Clover recognizes none of them, the outlines of their clothes are too ancient or foreign. While he can’t see the face at all, a clocked figure gives off an air of optimism as pleasant as summer.

Then he stops and stares at one silhouette, of long hair and sturdy armor.

“I had a long conversation with Pyrrha Nikos,” the god said with a warm tone but it goes cold, “She was every good thing of humanity. I was saddened to her of her death.” A bitter laughter escaped him, “My brother was equally furious, not that he’ll admit it. If we held looser laws and were at the right time, I think we’d debate to give her an offer.”

All of this is a bit too much for Clover to process, watching the silhouettes be whisked away with golden lights.

Offer, that word is scaring Clover.

“But you’re speaking with me,” he points out, terrified for reasons unknown even to him.

It’s has to be too much to hope, he knows it. Ozpin lived an unspeakable amount of lives through other people’s body. Clover can’t do that, he can’t put some random person in the same boat as Oscar.

No matter how much he’d love to see Qrow again, Clover can’t interfere with something as powerful as that.

“What I did to Ozma may not be a sound idea,” the god admits, as if the word ethical is unknown to him. “But your circumstances are different.” He began listing, “You still have a body to return to and it is next to someone gifted with old magic.”

“Qrow,” he whispers to the void and his whole heart beats in loud thuds.

This cannot be so easy though, everything in him doesn’t believe that he’s so _lucky._

“With my power and no objection from my brother, we are offering you the chance to walk the planet again.”

Clover takes a step back, “No offense, I can’t fully believe this is all true.”

And yet his hands tremble with the idea of holding Qrow, to feel the man smile against his lips, to give up his entire heart and trust for a man that needs to know he is loved.

In this endless space, away from the terrifying threats of Salem or the monumental demands of Ironwood, Clover desperately wants to keep Qrow safe.

He wants to do everything he can to do so but he can’t trust this god’s words. It doesn’t make sense.

“You said this is a taboo,” Clover glares, “you don’t seem like a god who goes against his own rules.”

“That would be my brother, yes,” the god easily avoids but he clasps his hands again, a show of elegance that means nothing to Clover unless he gets the truth. “But after our departure I wondered if all of this could be avoided if I gave Salem what she wanted.”

The god looks off into the distance, the endless white that is so lonely. Maybe the gods miss Remnant?

All this time there hasn’t been much facial expressions Clover read, just gentle slopes of a face. Then suddenly the hollowed eyes narrow.

“I ceased that wondering, a terrible senseless thought. I would never give my power away to please an arrogant walking ghost.”

A humming sensation shook the air, the still white of the realm feels cold, colder and crueler than the tundra Clover died in.

Anger, the human realize, feeling the tension is so hot that it is freezing over his skin and chips at his bones. He collapses to his knees, unable to carry the intense gravity of rage and spite washing off of the golden giant.

Then in a snap, it’s gone.

The God of Light coughs into a hand, “Apologies, I lost my train of thought.”

Clover is wheezing over his knees. His body feels stretched out and boxed together all in seconds. That rush of anger stabbed into all of his organs, the phantom pains of his death does not compare.

The human slowly gets back to his feet, sluggish and still trembling.

With a wave of his golden hand, the lingering pains are gone but it’s still in Clover’s head.

A god can be careless with his power and be just as prideful to believe all is forgiven.

Clover doesn’t trust his voice, his mind too scared and wise to provoke the god but he no longer has life on stake.

“What do you want from me?” His patience is still chalked in time, wearing thin for answers and explanations he wants before he gives into temptation to see red eyes again.

Who knew being dead involved so much waiting.

“I believed we all should abide to the rules of life and death,” the god preludes, “I took that away from Salem to teach her a lesson she refuses to acknowledge. I gave Ozma a task he agreed with his soul tested against time itself. Now, Clover Ebi, I am breaking my rules to offer you a second chance for you to go against Salem.”

The god speaks with an intensity that does not match his blank face.

This being before Clover does care about rules but he hates Salem even more.

“You won’t do any magic on me?” Clover has to check, “I’ll just be me when I return.”

The god nods, “You must return as human, I promise.”

“I still don’t understand why you’re doing this,” he breathlessly continues, not thinking too clearly or overthinking everything.

How can a human understand a god?

Better question, how can a god understand a human?

The God of Life doesn’t hesitate in his answer, “Salem treats all of this as a game and while I first believed that I gave Ozma the right tools, I know that woman will cheat or has already by now.”

A small voice in his head, suspiciously sounding like Qrow, blows a raspberry at how immortal beings always thinks the fate of humanity is a game.

“And what, with me back in, this will be a fair game?”

He believes the god would be enraged at Clover’s dull tone, smite him for dare mocking a god.

Instead the golden being laughs. It is a rusty noise, surprising the god too as the human is still as shocked and confused as ever.

The chiming laugh sends warmth through the bleak emptiness, reminding him of the first time he saw Qrow smile so soft.

“A fair game indeed,” the god chuckles, probably thinking of an inside joke. The humor in the air vanishes as the god steps forward, “Now then, will you accept.”

Moment of truth, Clover realizes.

He could rest in eternity and wait for familiar faces or return to fight that is viewed as a game to god like beings.

The last image of Qrow flashes before his eyes, a man so torn down from every fear and despair and believes it is a fitting punishment.

Clover can’t stand one moment more of Qrow suffering.

“I’ll do it.”

Right as those words leave his mouth, the whiteness of the realm shines brighter.

As the god shines with that light, his voice rings in the human’s ears, “Good luck you two.”

It’s all white and then color enters his world.

The sky is purple and pink and blue and orange. Its array of beauty reflects onto the snowy tundra.

None of that compares to seeing Qrow, a sobbing mess, chocked up and wide eyed when Clover sits up from his pool of blood.

“Clover?” It was spoken so small and feeble but carries guilt and shame until the man repeats, _“Clover!”_

Still in awe of this man, his voice is hoarse and unsteady but to Clover it is music and full of hope.

Qrow is a blurry image as tears well up in Clover’s eyes but he powers through the agony his body is still experiencing to cling to the other man. Qrow wraps his arms around Clover’s neck, shuddering with great effort to breath.

Clover is in a similar state, grasping for the cold air and the scent and warmth from Qrow. He’s cold in his arms, from the cold and the grief but no more.

His own voice is broken but alive, “Qrow, I-“

“My fault,” the huntsman wails, “You’re, you were, I _let_ him.” None of his sentences are finished. It all ends with guilt that Clover will not allow.

“I don’t blame you, Qrow,” Clover cups his hand through Qrow’s tangled hair, carefully holding his head to make their eyes meet. “I know you didn’t want this.”

“But you still got _killed,”_ his entire being crumbles, weak hands making great effort to hold onto Clover, “because of _me._ ”

Slowly, Clover takes hold of one hand and presses it to his chest. His uniform is still very bloody but the skin has miraculously healed.

“I’m not dead,” he said steadily, more so for Qrow’s sake than his own because he still in disbelief at his conversation with the god. “You didn’t kill me Qrow.”

A small cry escapes the dark haired man, his red eyes focused on the marred skin. While there’s no broken flesh or bone, they both see discoloration of a scar there.

“How?” He croaks but his touch his gentle, sliding around to be truly convinced that no wound his sword caused.

Clover can’t help but hug Qrow close, “I’m lucky that you stayed by my side.”

He feels arms wrap around him, holding on tight for dear life. None want to let go but Clover, just fresh from the dead, casts away all of his doubts and fears and worries to start kissing Qrow’s face.

Tears are falling again from red eyes as Clover kisses them again, the taste salty and cold on his lips but it’s so perfectly Qrow that he can’t help but cling on to him.

It’s Qrow who grabs at Clover’s head get their lips to meet. Pressed hard together then suddenly they’re laughing against each other’s lips, relieved beyond measures that they’re both here.

Nothing else matters at this moment as they just hold on to each other.

The sun is a blinding silver and gold up above.

**Author's Note:**

> Bare with yall but with if the gods ship fair game?
> 
> Nah, I'm kidding. I just wanted to bring Clover back from the dead. In a way, I very much paralleled Ozma's reckless and immediate agreement with Clover having more information at hand and more alertness to the situation.
> 
> Either way, I want Clover and Qrow to be happy!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
